What We Have Loved
by small fries
Summary: chloe/clark: the smallville youths are graduating. chloe mucks around in clark's past and emotional chaos ensues. (FINAL PART UP!)
1. Prologue

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This is my first attempt at Smallville_ fanfiction. I've been a Chloe/Clark shipper since the beginning, so don't expect very much of anyone else. Also note that some parts **may not exactly follow** where the show has went nearing the end of the first season. Enjoy!_

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Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

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Prologue :

She had always been a writer. At the age of four, she was writing with a stubby red crayon in her hand and sometimes on the living room wall. When she was ten, she discovered the wonderful medium of word processing and spent many hours clacking away at the keyboard. As a teenager, she was the editor-in-chief for her school newspaper. Although the themes that she chose to tackle varied at different points of her life, she adhered to one aspect of her writing: truth. And now, as her journalistic career seemed to be blossoming, she was reminiscing.

There was a time when all she could seem to write about was romance. She would spend copious amounts of time in the library, looking for the latest Danielle Steele novel and, when she had just completed sexual education in biology class, the risqué tales of damsels in distress and their brave heroes. She was thirteen at the time of her first finished novella and it was titled Love Conquers All. But even though her stories were fictitious tales about the hardships of love, there remained some truth from her own fundamental desires as one on the verge of womanhood.

Today, as she was cleaning out her storage room, she spied and thusly opened a dusty cardboard box labeled "Smallville". She excavated the loosely bound novella and chuckled at her cliché choice of a title. She ran her fingers gingerly over the cover page, which she had devised herself as a simple and minimalistic design. "Written by Chloe Sullivan," she read to herself in the privacy of her small house, almost surprised to hear her birth name. Her penname today hadn't nearly as much personality as the girl named Chloe years ago. But that was why she had created her penname in the first place, to start life anew. She remembered the months it took her to write this piece, which now lay suffocated among the other miscellaneous detritus from her years in Smallville. She tried to remember the high school she had attended and the newspaper she had run and the family she hardly saw, but all that flooded her mind were two powerful but gentle blue eyes.

Chloe shook her head now, trying to shut out those intrusive eyes. She tossed the little fairy tale that the child version of her had concocted into the box and began to shut it. But something stood out before her gaze; a letter she had placed in a blue envelope, crinkled and faded with age, poked out from the corner of the box. The seal still hadn't been licked shut. She remembered so precisely the day she wrote it and the realization that it would never be mailed to its desired recipient. Those two blue eyes that she both feared and loved would never see it, for the letter revealed far too much of her soul. If her feelings in that letter were read, her soul would be as open and vulnerable as a fresh wound. But when she was younger, when those knowing eyes looked at her and only her, vulnerable was all she felt.


	2. Establishing Boundaries

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Addendum: I changed details about how Chloe and Clark first met in Part 2_. (05/18/02)_

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Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

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Establishing Boundaries :

Clark didn't know what to make of it. He stared at the empty spaces and couldn't believe how confused he was. Words and letters became a jumble of strange symbols in his mind and he could feel his temper starting to flare. Chloe's expression of amusement was hidden behind her blonde hair.

"How in _hell_ is anyone supposed to know who played the voice for the museum curator on _The Simpsons_?" Clark bellowed. He tossed the new edition of the Torch into the wastebasket, only to have its proud editor salvage it before it made contact with the gooey, undesirable contents of the trash.

"Ah, you must be talking about the infamous 33-down in the entertainment crossword," she mocked Clark. "It's Donald Sutherland."

Clark threw his arms in the air in surrender. "You see? Who else—other than the all-seeing, all-knowing media-queen Chloe Sullivan—would know something as trivial as that?" He took a seat in the school cafeteria with Chloe following after his long strides.

"Mickey Jenkins," Pete answered easily, "the boy who always constructs the entertainment crossword. He must be a hoot at Trivial Pursuit parties." He slid into the seat facing the bickering duo.

"Despite Clark's utter ineptitude regarding pop culture, that Donald Sutherland has bred a great looking son. Did you see the latest episode of _24_? That Kiefer definitely needs to be making more Gap ads—yummy," Chloe marveled. She received Clark's rolling eyes at her comment. 

"Is that all you think about? Guys?" Pete laughed. He exposed a white grin, creating a handsome contrast to his dark skin. " I thought _you_ out of all people would appreciate the finer things in life, Chloe Sullivan."

"It's not _my_ fault if some of these guys are the epitome of 'fine'," she replied. More rolling of Clark's eyes. To Chloe, that meant changing topics. "By the by, did you happen to see Lana today? I need to ask her about the article on the Geography class's field trip."

She wasn't sure why she had even said that cursed name, as she knew Clark Kent became lost in his own thoughts starring the elusive Lana Lang whenever her name entered the conversation. He raked a languid hand through his unkempt, auburn hair and didn't notice that his backpack had fallen to the dirty floor of the cafeteria, as he began his habitual staring into nowhere at the sound of Lana's name. Sometimes Chloe tried to get into Clark's mind and imagine how Lana must appear there. Would she be the shy, cute-as-a-button brunette who spouted lines like a Hallmark card or would she be the seductive temptress, which undoubtedly would be the majority of the images running through Smallville High's male population.

"Clark?" Pete called out, snapping his fingers in front of his friend's rosy face.

"I think we're losing him," Chloe muttered inaudibly to herself. Those words encapsulated her entire friendship over the years with Clark when the name Lana, and everything associated with it, competed for his undivided attention.

"Huh? Oh right," Clark finally responded. "I saw her right before lunch at the water fountain. I think she mentioned something about handing in her article to you after school." He continued to dig into his helping of strawberry Jell-O with a look of familiarity. "She was wearing a pink tank-top today. Very pretty."

Now it was Chloe's turn to roll her eyes, with Pete shaking his head and grinning. But somehow Clark never noticed to change the subject.

* * * * * * * 

She was at home now, staring at her worn and scratched-up laptop as usual. Graduation was only months away and although that also meant house parties galore for the Smallville youth, Chloe intended to stay away from any distraction. She stared at her computer screen, which still remained blank. She had spent days trying to write something for her admissions piece to the Metropolis School of Journalism. The guidelines were that her piece could be based on events in her life or on current issues in the media. Her counselor had advised her to choose the latter topic; although innovative writing and style were the factors ultimately being scrutinized by the Metropolis academics, it was much more difficult to take an aspect of your life and make it something _worthy_ of reading.

Chloe had given up. Of course, she could obviously choose to write about her experiences with the meteor shower's aftermath in Smallville. But she had already collected all of her articles from the Torch regarding such occurrences in her portfolio—most of them had already been tacked onto her "Wall of Weird" in the Torch office. No, she had to write about something new, something she had never written about throughout all of her journalistic endeavours. But what?

Finally, she turned the laptop off and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. "It's already 1:00AM?" she cried out incredulously, remembering it was a school night. How long had she been staring at her computer screen? She hardly felt tired as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen for midnight snackage. Her bare feet padded on the hardwood floor.

"Chloe!" called a voice from the window as she had just entered the unlit kitchen.

Chloe's heart almost stopped dead. The voice had come from outside of her house. She hated being scared, which was the main reason she refused to partake in Clark's _Scream_-fests at his house with Pete. She always tried to pass it off as an utter distaste for Wes Craven films, but her male friends were not easily fooled. They would repeatedly pull practical jokes on her, wearing _Jason_esque hockey masks and other such Halloween paraphernalia.

She struggled with the light switch but finally managed it in the up-position. "Clark?" she whispered, as she peeked out the window above the kitchen sink. Sure enough, Clark was outside of her kitchen at an ungodly hour like the strange little boy he was.

"Chloe, let me in," he begged her. Without a rational thought, Chloe opened the side door for Clark and inside he came with his brown hiking boots kicking dirt into the house.

"Oops," he whispered. "I'll clean that up before I go." Chloe smirked and swaggered into the living room with Clark close behind her.

"How did I know you'd be up, too?" he asked rhetorically. He collapsed beside her on the plush sofa. "I'm sorry for coming by so late—I couldn't sleep. Right before I hit the sack, my parents were discussing colleges and universities that I should plan to attend. I started feeling really queasy with the thought of leaving this place but also with the thought of making a new life elsewhere. It was like there were a thousand possibilities running through my head and I wasn't sure which one to grab a hold of. And if I chose just one, I'd let another get away."

Chloe nodded. "I know the feeling," she replied, suddenly feeling embarrassed of her plaid, flannel pajamas with cartoon cows printed on them. She quickly tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her hands around her body. "But it's expected. We have only four more months left before we take off. I just hope I don't end up at Smallville Community College." Chloe stuck out her tongue in distaste.

"Can you believe we're going to graduate in June? It seems so strange to me," Clark continued, staring intently into Chloe's eyes. "I haven't even been to another country, let alone out of Kansas. Sometimes I wonder how naïve I really am when it comes to the world."

"Same here. All I've ever known was Smallville, minus the very limited vacations I've had in the past. When it all boils down, I feel like a Smallville girl at heart—'small' being the operative word."

"Nah," Clark shook his head and turned his body towards Chloe. "You'll get out of here. You have your writing and extreme potential. When I look at you, I see something great, Chloe."

Her breath caught in her lungs.

"I see us being friends for a long time, too."

Exhale.

And then: "I wonder where Lana is planning on going after high school."

Her heart felt like it imploded. _Must force smile_, she thought.

"I hope that if anything changes, it changes for the better."

That was what Chloe loved about Clark. He had an optimistic outlook to everything. He could point out road-kill on the side of the road and say "At least it died on an adventure across a busy highway. Cheers, little squirrel!" He saw the good in people and things. But that was all he ever saw. If he looked deeper than just "good" he might find the passion in people or, better yet, love.

Chloe had long since given up hope that Clark would turn his pristine blue eyes towards her and see the love emanating not only through her actions but also through her every word. She loved him. There was no denying it at this point. She had loved him since eighth grade when she had fallen from her bike while attempting an unorthodox trick she had seen on television. She had cut her knee very badly and Clark seemed to be the only one who had noticed her silent cries of distress and tended to her wound with his shirt. He had carried her to the nurse's office and held her hand as she squirmed with the nurse's application of a rather stinging and potent antiseptic.

The memory flooded her senses in the silence between her and Clark and quickly she reverted back to the freckled thirteen-year-old girl who melted at the sight of Clark Kent's kind blue eyes. Chloe almost forgot that they were now eighteen and on the verge of adulthood. Still, she melted.

"Er, Chloe?" Clark repeated. "Are you alright?" His hand gently clutched her shoulder.

"Oh," Chloe gasped. "Sorry. I guess I was daydreaming." She glanced out the window into the dusk. "Or just plain ol' dreaming."

Clark swiftly got up from his seat on the sofa and said, "I've been keeping you up. Sometimes I forget you have to wake up two hours earlier than Pete and I for your Torch responsibilities."

"Thanks for reminding me," Chloe grumbled. She, too, got up from her comfortable spot and led Clark to the side door.

"And thank _you_ for listening to me," Clark told her as he kicked the dirt that he earlier brought in with him out the door. "Sometimes I forget how well you know me." He gave her a crooked grin. "Well, good night." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his thin jean jacket and, as Chloe turned away for just one moment, he was completely out of sight.

Something about Clark's last statement bothered Chloe as she closed the door behind him. For a while now, she wasn't quite sure how well she _did_ know him. Lately he seemed to be keeping certain things from her. But as an aspiring journalist and, quite simply, a nosy friend, Chloe made a personal vow to find out just what those things were.

She shut the door and sluggishly walked up the stairs and into her room. The idea of another day at high school made her skin cringe. Soon she wouldn't feel the extreme torture of being somewhere she hated. Soon she would be working at the Daily Planet writing editorials about the travesty of the American federal government and the like. Soon she'd proudly hang her Pulitzer Prize on the wall of her cozy Metropolis abode. But first, she had to complete her admissions piece. 

"Sigh" was her last thought before she fell asleep.


	3. Wanting More

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Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

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Wanting More :

Lana stood there in another pink top. She looked so cute when she didn't know anyone was watching her. At times, Clark felt like stalker of sorts, the way he knew intimate details about her life. Like how her parents died just across the street from her while she was held in her aunt's arms, and the way she closed one eye pensively when called upon in class by the teacher. He knew little nit-picky things about her taste in food and how cheesecake was only delicious if it was blueberry. He simply noticed things about her and observed her every move.

"I'm hopeless," Clark told Pete as the two of them headed to the rest of the gym class in the field. "Lana's just another human being and here I am mooning over her like one of those pitiful characters in _Dawson's Creek_."

Pete laughed. He was always laughing at Clark's persistence in the Lana Lang department. "My friend, you've got issues. I don't think I need to tell you that. I've known you almost my whole life Clark and I can honestly say that you're at your wit's end when it comes to Lana. You transform into this babbling monkey."

"Although I appreciate the analogy, I really do think I am getting somewhere with Lana," Clark told him as he bent over to tie his kleats up. "We've been talking a lot lately. Sometimes she drops by the loft and we just sit and talk and watch the sunset. It's like my high school fantasy is coming true right before my eyes. She's so beautiful, more beautiful now than ever." Clark glanced over at Lana standing with the rest of the girls who were stretching at the other end of the school's field.

"How romantic!" Pete marveled in a feminine voice. "Well, did you show her your moves?" He gave Clark a wink and a nudge to his ribs.

Clark shoved his friend playfully, but Pete accidentally hit his bottom on the grass. "Jeez, Clark!"

"Sorry, Pete!" Clark apologized as he helped him up. "Sometimes I forget my own superhuman strength."

"You sound really convinced of that, Clark," Pete joked as he ran towards his teammates.

"Yeah," Clark muttered to himself. "Too convinced."

* * * * * * *

Chloe was sitting under a tall oak tree when Clark spied her, wearing black slacks and a classic pinstriped shirt. She was scribbling something on a loose-leaf paper. As he walked towards her, he was startled by how she looked perched under the tree, half bathed in sunlight and half swathed in the shadow of the mighty oak. Her blonde hair tossed about slightly in the warm summer breeze and she used her fingers to easily push it behind her ears. Her other hand was furiously jotting things on the paper, but as quickly as her pen moved Clark knew she was pouring a tremendous amount of thought into her words. That was the way Chloe worked. Every action and gesture had great thought behind it.

"What's up in the world, Miss Sullivan?" Clark called out as he jogged over to her. The two youngsters found themselves in front of their school with the sparse amount of students dispersing from the building late in the afternoon. Chloe was always alone with her thoughts. Clark always wondered whether or not he was intruding when he interrupted her writing, but now, as Chloe's ruminating expression transformed into a charming smile, he knew he wasn't.

"Same old," she replied as she quickly slammed her notebook shut and tucked it into her tan carrier bag. "Where's Pete? Don't you guys have gym class together?"

Clark shrugged and said, "He spotted Marcia Hennings in the lounge and took off after her. He's determined to have a date for the Arnold Wagowski's party tomorrow night."

"That's Pete for you," Chloe said. "And how about you? Are you going to at least attempt to ask Lana to the party?" She pretended not to care about his response as she got up to walk home with him. "It's been a good three months since she broke up with Whitney. The rebound period is over. You have a real shot now, stud."

"I was thinking about it," Clark replied. "The other day when she dropped by the loft, she was talking about moving on and then she gave me this strange, somewhat meaningful stare. It was so penetrating."

"That's poetic," Chloe managed to utter. "It's a good sign, right?"

"I guess. I know I've spent almost a lifetime just dreaming of talking to her, and since two years ago I got my wish. We started talking and I think it's safe to say we're pretty good friends. Now that she's not with Whitney anymore, I should feel free to 'make my move,' as Pete would so eloquently put it."

"But…" Chloe continued for her friend. They were approaching her yellow house, and as much as she would have liked to end the conversation about Smallville's beloved orphan, she wanted to hear Clark's answer.

"But I really don't feel right about it. It's as if this isn't how I imagined things would work out. I mean, she's always been this unattainable creature to me, and now that I have a shot, I'm not quite sure what to do with it," Clark trailed on. He looked at Chloe. "I know I'm not making any sense."

Chloe shook her head. "No," she replied. "It's love, Clark. It's not supposed to make sense."

"I'm not so sure I even know what love is," Clark sighed. "Well, I guess this is your stop." He paused before pushing a stray tendril of blonde hair from Chloe's long, dark lashes. Why had he never realized how Chloe's cheeks blushed a scarlet hue whenever he touched her? Had that always happened?

Chloe quickly spun around, tossing her hand back to wave goodbye to Clark. "See you later!" Clark had one last look at Chloe as she ran into her house before heading to the direction of his own. He wondered if Chloe blushing had only been the product of his overactive imagination.

Suddenly, from what seemed to be inside of his own head he heard someone screaming for help. "Please, don't hurt me! Help! Someone!" With a force he had come to terms with over the last few years, Clark ran towards the location of the voice with amazing speed. When he ran with his fullest power, he could look around him and see everyone stopped dead in their tracks, unaware than a teenage boy was hurdling past them faster than sound or light.

"Help me!" the voice continued pleading. Clark reached a dark alley where the voice had been coming from. He spied a woman with her blouse torn open on the ground with a monster of a man lying on top of her and attempting to tear her skirt off.

Clark was on the man in an instant and pushed him into the wall of the nearest building. Bricks flew everywhere as one hit the man in the head and knocked him out cold. The wall was a now a gaping hole. He turned his attention to the female lying before him on the ground, half-naked and screaming incessantly.

"He tried to rape me! Oh, God!" she cried out. Clark removed his own corduroy jacket and placed it over the woman in an attempt to calm her. "Where did you come from?" the woman asked Clark incredulously. "There was no one here a minute ago." Her suspicion was overtaken by her gratitude as Clark helped her to her feet and hurried her to the police station.

In moments, the police had apprehended the unconscious man from the crime scene and the woman was calmed down enough to press charges of attempted rape and assault. When Clark called his parents using a pay-phone, they rushed to the police station.

"Clark!" his mother yelled as she ran into the precinct. "Are you alright?" His father stalked in after her. "What happened?"

The young police officer standing beside Clark gave him pat on the back. "Your son's a hero, Mrs. Kent. He always seems to be around when people are in need of help. Smallville could use more people like that, considering all of the strange occurrences than have been happening ever since the meteor shower." The police officer's British accent was obvious and Mrs. Kent always seemed to be intrigued by it. Clark respected him for not only being part of the esteemed Smallville police force but also for just sounding so damn suave. His jet-black hair and his rather intense expressions made the young man a prime target for the hearts of females in the town who desired the conventional tall, dark, and handsome paramour.

"Thanks, Officer Kensington," Clark replied as he shook the young man's eager hand. They had forged a slight friendship over the years that Clark had "coincidentally" appeared at crime scenes, swearing that he had only happened upon the criminals and thusly used what strength he had to stop them from committing the act. Over the years, Officer Kensington had shook Clark's had at least a dozen times and he knew that there were probably more people Clark had helped whom he would never know about. Instead of feeling suspicious, all Officer Kensington could feel for Clark was utmost gratitude, as the rest of the Smallville community undoubtedly did.

"Call me Jeremy, Clark," the young officer informed him. "I'm only three years older than you. I even graduated from your high school after moving here from London. I never imagined that the crime rate in a town as quaint as Smallville would double my hometown." Jeremy cleared his throat, afraid he had distressed the Kent family. "I guess that's a little too much information than I am allowed to disclose."

"Don't worry," Jonathan Kent told him with a nod. "We completely understand."

On the ride home, Clark's father scolded Clark about using his powers in public as he worked the steering wheel of the huge truck. "Did you make sure that woman you saved wasn't looking? We can't risk having perfect strangers see you fling a man through a brick wall with just a flick of your fingers. We came too close to losing you last year."

Clark thought back to that year when a corrupt detective had attempted to extort him with knowledge of his powers. He had made Clark break into certain politicians' homes and steal confidential files. Clark turned on the detective's order and in the end the corrupt cop was killed, though not by his hands but as a result of his own illegal dealings. Clark remembered fearing the detective exposing his secret to the world; he had photographs and film of Clark pushing a runaway bus aside with great facility and running at impossible speeds. Since then, Jonathan Kent had become wary of anyone seeing his son achieving feats which were fantastical to any normal human being.

"Sorry, dad. I was too busy trying to _save_ the woman," Clark retorted sharply. Often he wondered if his powers were a blessing or a curse.

* * * * * * *

"I heard about your amazing rescue from behind the tavern yesterday," Lana said to Clark, quietly sipping beer from her plastic cup. She hurried past several bodies and away from the crowd of students who were creating a crude mosh-pit of sorts.

"What?" Clark yelled into the blaring music. He hadn't been quite sure why he decided to come to Arnold Wagowski's party as soon as he entered the noisy and bustling house. But when he saw Lana greeting him in a revealing black V-neck and a pair of tight-fitting jeans, he knew he had made the right choice. And, of course, he gulped.

"I said," Lana repeated into Clark's ear loudly, "that I heard about you rescuing that woman from behind the tavern." She beamed at Clark with what he discerned as wonder and slight pride.

Clark returned her smile. "I just happened to be there. It's disgusting, the lengths that some men will go to have a woman who doesn't want him."

"What?" Lana called to him. She pointed to the tall stereo speaker beside them and gestured for them to go out to the patio, where there were less sweaty bodies. "It feels much better out here. Cooler, for one thing."

Clark agreed as he leaned beside her against the railing. He looked inside of the house and saw Pete dancing with Marcia, his date. _Go Pete, _he thought to himself. He was always glad to see his friends having a good time. If only he could have convinced Chloe to come. She seemed willing at first, but then she had mentioned something about distraction ruining admission—whatever that meant_. Chloe, the enigma_, he joked in his mind.

"I remember going to parties like these with Whitney. God, I was always so bored. He had his football buddies and I had my friends from cheerleading. Still, I always felt so out of place," Lana explained to Clark. Over the last two years, they had both began to confide in one another. Clark was surprised that Lana was actually interested in his life on the farm and about his seemingly banal goals in life. Now, Lana was deliberately pushing her body closer to his and looking at him intently with that permeating stare of hers. They could still hear the music coming from inside of the house. A slow, sultry track came on and Lana felt that this was the time to ignite something between the two of them.

"The only time I ever have fun at these things is when Chloe, Pete, and I all go together. We usually spend most of the time making fun of people dancing like amateur strippers or drunken red-necks throwing themselves into one another." Clark laughed as he recounted the many times Chloe had said something completely hilarious about the meatheads in their school. She could definitely cut a person down when she wanted to, at times even inadvertently. It was her sarcastic humour that not many people would understand.

"I like this song," Lana said, interrupting Clark's thoughts. "Do you want to dance?"

Did she even have to ask? Clark nervously put his arms around Lana's slender waist as she slid her arms around his neck. The rhythmic beat resounded from the house and onto the patio, moving through the floorboards and into the two bodies swaying to the music.

"You know, Clark," Lana said. "We've been playing this game for a while. We both know how we feel about each other. Don't you ever wonder what would happen if we took the next step?" She peered into his eyes curiously. She wasn't being coy; the idea had been giving her a lot of wrinkles and goosebumps recently.

Clark cleared his throat. "Yes" was all he could stammer.

"I'm not good at this," she said jovially. "I know we've become good friends, but when I look at you I see someone with whom I really want to be close."

"We _are_ close, Lana," Clark replied naively.

Lana giggled. "No, closer than that." She gradually moved onto her toes and used her hand to push Clark's head down to meet hers. "Like _this_." She pressed her lips onto his and she felt a burst of sensation running through her body. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. Electricity, and not the emotional but physical kind, sent a bolt of current running through her mouth to her toes and her fingertips. So _this_ is what it felt like to kiss the mysterious Clark Kent; the feeling was out of this world.

Clark responded to Lana's kiss and gently parted his lips as his tongue found hers. It was unreal. It was his fantasy come true. Years of waiting and dreaming had led up to this point as they stood there entwined in the other's body, eyes closed, hands grasping, and tongues touching. He felt giddy, as though he were back in grade eight and merely imagining what it would be like to French kiss the sought-after Lana Lang. And now he was doing it.

Finally, after minutes of kissing and breathing and kissing again, Clark moved away from Lana, searching her expression for some sort of reason. "Lana, I…" Right then, he saw _her_ in the reflection of the window—Chloe was behind them.

"Hey, Chloe," Lana greeted her cheerfully, still holding onto Clark's hand. She wasn't being smug, though she knew she had won over Chloe's lifelong crush. It was obvious to everyone _but_ Clark. That was his way, though. He was so modest and unaware of people's desires. That was the main thing Lana adored about him. He wasn't like the proud, egomaniacal Whitney whom she had dated for years on end.

"Hi, guys," Chloe said too sweetly as she refused to look Clark in the eye. She headed into the house with a quick wave and scurried off to find Pete.

"I'm glad, Clark."

"Huh?" Clark replied, as he watched an equivocally defeated Chloe rush through the front door.

"I said that I'm glad, Clark," Lana repeated. She raised her hand to caress his hot cheek and finally got his attention, something she never really had to work for throughout the years she had known him. "After all of those obstacles we had thrown before us, we can be together now."

Clark nodded skeptically as he bent down to kiss her soft lips once again. It was his fantasy turned reality. But why did the dream suddenly feel so uncomfortably real?


	4. Secrets Kept Are Secrets Wept

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| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |

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Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

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Secrets Kept Are Secrets Wept:

There were times when she knew exactly what to do. This wasn't one of them. Chloe didn't even know what she wanted from Clark. Was it friendship or love? Why couldn't she just settle for the former, as that seemed to be the only thing Clark wanted and all she had known throughout the entire course of their friendship? Why did she even care so much? She had always been a free thinker, and independent soul. She had never needed the approval of men to give her a reason to exist. She was strong, she was self-sufficient, she was… in love.

There was no denying it now. She loved Clark Kent and all of his peculiarities. He was goofy and clumsy. He had his cons and his vices. And throughout all of the years she had put up with his strange ways, she didn't care. She saw him as the boy who had saved her at the curb of the street and who would always, always be her hero.

She sat on her bed and ran a thumb over the pale scar tissue on her knee. _Hero_. That word sounded odd to her, especially as a journalist who knew that every hero had his weakness. However, any weakness Clark may have had only further fueled her desire for him. She liked the fact that he was flawed and knew it; he never attempted to be anyone other than Clark Kent, hometown-boy extraordinaire.

Only two hours ago she had witnessed him and Lana finally getting the chance he had always dreamed of. Chloe knew her place in Clark's heart would forever be shadowed by the perfect fantasy that was Lana Lang. How could she, a curious—sometimes annoyingly so—smalltime reporter, win his heart over a dazzling, beautiful prom queen? Boys loved that type. She had spent many years flipping through articles in _Vogue_ and _Cosmopolitan_ to come to terms with the universal knowledge that good girls finish last.

"You have to get over Clark," Chloe ordered herself. "Friendship lasts forever. Love always fades. Wouldn't you rather keep Clark as a friend than lose him somewhere down the line as a failed romance?"

Without thinking of an answer to her own question, Chloe reached for her leather-bound notebook on her desk and flipped it open to what she had been working on for several days. It was her admissions piece, still only a half-page long and amazingly legible despite the amount of crossed-out words and phrases. She had to get Clark off of her mind. She had to concentrate on getting into the Metropolis School of Journalism. What meant more to her: Clark or writing? She didn't even attempt to answer that one. Her priorities were shifting.

Without another thought, Chloe turned off the lamp on her bedside table and fell into a dreamless slumber.

* * * * * * *

"Maybe you were just nervous. It happens," Pete reassured Clark. "Well, not to _me_. But, you know." He grinned at his fretful chum as the two poured a slop-mix of food into the pigs' trough. Menial livestock tasks were Clark's responsibility on the Kent farm. Pete sometimes came over to help, only if it didn't include "freshening the cows' quarters", which was a Kent euphemism for shoveling manure.

"It's not that I was nervous," Clark replied as he poured a bucket of old vegetables into the trough. "Kissing Lana… That was… _Wow_."

Pete laughed. "That good, huh?"

"But it didn't feel right. Like it wasn't supposed to happen."

"Hasn't Lana been your dream-girl for at least a decade of our time on this planet?" Pete asked him.

"Well," Clark replied, "yeah."

"And haven't you always fantasized about the day when she'd feel the same way about you?"

"Yeah."

"So what the hell are you scared of? It's Lana Lang, not the Ebola virus."

Clark breathed a sigh. His friend didn't understand. "Chloe saw us."

Pete raised his eyebrow. "Saw you what?"

"Kissing. Lana and I were more or less making out and Chloe saw us just as she arrived at Arnold's party. She looked strange, Pete. I have never seen that expression on her face before. It was like she had seen a ghost." Clark furrowed his brow and said, "Do you think she has something against Lana?"

Pete sighed and offered his friend a look of sympathy. "You are a very naïve boy, Clark. Five years with Chloe and you still don't understand a thing about her."

Clark was insulted. Chloe was his best friend. He knew everything about her.

"She loves you, Clark," Pete stated rather bluntly. "For as long as I've known the two of you, she's been gaga over your stupid self. Don't ask me why. I don't find a single thing attractive about you." He was joking, but Clark's serious expression refused to lighten.

Maybe he had always known it. Maybe he had been scared of testing the waters with Chloe. As soon as Pete said those words, Clark knew that he had hurt Chloe incomprehensibly over the years with his talk about Lana and his complete insensitivity to his lifelong friend. Pete was right; he _was_ naïve. More than that, he was completely blind.

"I guess the only question you need to answer now is," Pete continued as he dumped the last bucket of vegetables into the trough and wiped his hands on his soiled shirt, "how do you feel about Chloe? Or better yet, would you choose her over Lana?"

"I honestly don't know, Pete. Do I even _have_ a choice to make? What if you're completely off base with your theory about Chloe? I'll look like a fool trying to talk to her about it."

"You're definitely a fool, Clark," Pete told him as they sauntered back to the Kents' house. "A damn lucky one, at that."

* * * * * * *

It was one of those days when you wake up and feel like a whole new person. Chloe rose from her bed with a sensation of rejuvenation and rebirth. No more would she keep Clark on a pedestal. She had more important things to concern herself with, like university and graduation and the Torch.

__

Oh God, the latest edition of the Torch! She was quickly reaching the deadline and she knew the rest of the Torch writers would kill her if she didn't complete the first-page article she had promised them, pictures and all.

Hurriedly, Chloe got dressed and soon she donned a knee-length jean skirt and a fading KSU T-shirt. She pulled her hair back into a chunky clip and plodded down the stairs. _Story. Need story_, Chloe chanted to herself. It was becoming a mantra for her.

"Good morning, Dad," Chloe greeted her father at the kitchen table. Gabe Sullivan was having his usual Sunday breakfast consisting of bagels with cream cheese. "I need a story worthy of front page by the end of this week, so I can't talk!" She quickly crammed a bagel into her mouth and laced up her boots.

"I suppose you've already heard of Clark's valiant rescue two days ago, then?" her father said from behind his newspaper.

"Clark's what?" Chloe queried with a raised eyebrow. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"That's because you've locked yourself in your room writing in that tattered notebook of yours. What happened to the laptop I bought you?"

"That tatted notebook is my journal, Dad. The laptop just seems too impersonal when it comes to writing something so intimate," Chloe replied. "You said Clark rescued someone?" She took a small notepad out of her jacket pocket in an attempt to jot down key points. She followed any possible lead for a scoop.

"Yes, that pretty Miss Rosemary Baker from down the street. She was assaulted and almost raped by a Metropolis hooligan who thought he could lay low in Smallville. I think he was wanted for other counts of assault and robbery. Clark knocked him out and saved Miss Baker, even carried her to the precinct." His father beamed a proud smile. He had known Clark Kent since his vivacious daughter had brought him home for dinner one day when she had just entered high school; sometimes, he forgot that Clark wasn't actually his flesh and blood.

"Do you know the name of the officer who filed the report?" Chloe inquired, writing down Miss Baker's name and a reminder to drop by the Smallville Police Department.

"Ah, yes," Gabe replied. "Martha Kent mentioned his name. Officer Jeremy Kensington, a young British man. Entered the force only a year or two ago. Nice guy."

"Thanks, Dad!" Chloe called to her father. She rushed out the door and was bounding down the street to Miss Baker's house. She only wished the young woman would be comfortable to talk about the attack. A high school boy saving a pretty young woman from the filthy hands of a Metropolis thug—definitely worthy of front page. Maybe she'd jazz the story up a little, perhaps mentioning that Clark was a shy boy and that he had never known the problem of crime in Smallville until his daring rescue of said young woman.

In no time, she was at Rosemary Baker's door and pressing the doorbell. When the door flew open, a comely young lady with long red hair and gentle brown eyes greeted her. "Hello, may I help you?" she asked Chloe.

"Miss Baker," Chloe extended her arm for a handshake, "my name is Chloe Sullivan and I write for the Torch."

Rosemary shook Chloe's hand and smiled in recognition of the newspaper name. "Yes, I've read some of your work, not only in the Torch but in the other local newspapers as well. Great journalistic skills you have."

Chloe blushed. She would never get used to compliments. "Thanks. I'm sorry to say the reason I'm here is because—"

"I know why you're here," Rosemary interjected as she led Chloe into her home. "Have a seat." She gestured toward a beige couch. "I'm not going to be a victim and pretend it didn't happen. I was almost raped, but a boy named Clark Kent saved me."

Chloe beamed as she sat down beside Rosemary. Just knowing that her friend had literally saved the day made her insides warm. "Yes, he is truly a spectacular person."

"How strong he was! From where I was lying, it looked as though he had merely tapped the criminal and he went flying into a brick wall," the young woman continued with a disbelieving tone of voice.

"Pardon me," Chloe interrupted. She once again produced her notepad, prepared with a pen in her right hand. "Did you say that you saw the man _hit _a brick wall?"

"He not only hit it, he went right _through_ it! He nearly made a man-shaped hole in it," Rosemary joked. Chloe was surprised at her ease with the subject at hand. Every word this woman was saying seemed so unreal. "Bricks flew everywhere. That Clark Kent must have been working out for his whole life, from what I saw."

Chloe was confused. In all her life, she had never seen Clark Kent partake in any school athletics, let alone pick up a dumbbell. "You saw him _tap_ the man and he subsequently went flying," she reiterated as she scribbled down phrases on the pad of paper. "Would you say this was sort of a 'freakish' power?" She scolded herself for even thinking about categorizing Clark with the local Freak-of-the-Weeks in Smallville.

"'Freakish?'" Rosemary repeated, taken aback. "Superhuman, maybe, but not freakish. Oh, that word carries a bad connotation. Though, it was indeed amazing. Clark's strength for a boy is just so… advanced. Almost as if he were a 'superboy'." The woman chuckled to herself as she said this. "I know that sounds ridiculous. I mean, he's just an average teenage boy, right?"

Chloe's lungs felt as if they were failing. "You know, Miss Baker. I think you might be on to something here," she replied. She quickly thanked Rosemary for her time and headed out the door as quickly as she had arrived.


	5. Moving On

****

| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |

__

This is my first attempt at Smallville_ fanfiction. I've been a Chloe/Clark shipper since the beginning, so don't expect very much of anyone else. Also note that some parts **may not exactly follow** where the show has went nearing the end of the first season. Enjoy!_

****

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

****

Moving On :

There were still some things about love that Clark didn't understand. Sure, he loved his parents and his friends. But he had never known the love of a woman, feeling her inside of him and himself inside of her. He wondered if true love could ever be achieved and if so, could it be achieved with Lana. Or was friendship the root to all love? Chloe had been his constant throughout his family problems (which were rare but serious once in motion), his high school drama, and his general confusion with life. Was he ready to tackle a possible relationship with her?

"Clark?" a soft voice called to him. "Clark, what are you thinking about?" Lana had just spotted a rather pensive Clark Kent cradling a crate of cabbage in his arm and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh," Clark remarked, "Lana, it's you."

The brunette standing before him surveyed his rugged navy jeans and his usual beige corduroy jacket. "Ok, once more with even less verve," she replied sarcastically as she spied Clark's effervescent mother. "Hi, Mrs. Kent."

"Hello, Lana!" Martha greeted. She was climbing out of the driver's side of the truck. "Want to help us unload these crates of vegetables and get them into Mr. Tunney's store?"

"No problem," Lana answered cheerfully. She hoisted a tiny crate of cherry tomatoes with her hands. "I'll leave the enormous ones for Clark." She gave him a wink as she headed through the market into Mr. Tunney's grocer.

Martha glanced at her son whose eyes remained glued to Lana. "I've seen that look before."

Spinning around to his mother, Clark feigned ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said as he followed her, a giant crate balanced on the palm of his hand.

"Clark!" Martha hissed. "Could you at least pretend to be putting effort into carrying that thing?" She hesitantly glanced around the market and noted that no one had seen Clark's exhibition of unnatural vigour.

"Look, Ma! One finger!" Clark teased as he spun the crate on his index finger like a basketball.

"Please don't make me say it again," Martha scolded her show-off of a son. Clark finally gave in and carried the large crate of watermelons with both hands, slumping over slightly to add a realistic touch. "Some people might be completely enthralled by your powers. Others may regard it quite differently," she admonished.

"Mom, sometimes I wish I could just show people what I can do," Clark told her. "One day, I'm going to have to. What if I get married and my wife still didn't know? Wouldn't the noble thing be to tell her the truth?"

Martha stifled a laugh. "Hmm, marriage. That seems to be an awful big of a concept playing on an eighteen-year-old's mind. What inspired this sudden query?" She spotted Lana handing the tomatoes to Mr. Tunney and shot her son a knowing glance. "Oh, I see."

Clark cocked his eyebrow. "It's not what you think, Mom. Someday, I'm going to want my friends to know who I really am, what I can really do. Plus, I just recently started thinking about the future, since you and dad always seem to be on my back when it comes to life after high school."

"So is the object of your marital affection still Miss Lang?" Martha asked. "I heard from her Aunt Nell that she and Whitney broke up a while ago. Have you made it clear to her about your little crush?"

"First of all, it's not just a little crush. Second, I can't believe you talked to Nell about us. And third—not that it's any of your business—" Clark told her as he ushered his mom away from Lana and back to the truck, "we kissed about a week ago. We're not dating, but it's sort of the unofficial version of such for the time being. It's standard high school code."

Martha didn't know whether to be happy for her son or frightened. He was growing into an adult and she had to try to come to terms with that. After all of the years she and Jonathan had spent trying to keep his secret safe, that he was not from this planet or perhaps even this solar system, her son wanted to expose everything to someone whom he only _thought_ he loved.

A loud crash came from the store and Clark could hear very clearly: "Oh no! It hurts!" It was Lana's voice. In less than a second, Clark ran as quick as a light particle to Mr. Tunney's grocer and saw Lana rubbing her arm in slight discomfort.

She glanced up at him with a puzzled look. "Clark, where'd you come from? I could have sworn I just saw you by the truck," Lana questioned him. She continued to run her fingers over a spot on her arm. A broken crate lay at the floor of the grocer.

"No, I was just standing to the side of the door," he lied. "Are you alright? I thought I heard you scream."

Lana, embarrassed, showed Clark a small cut on her arm. "It was a false alarm. I accidentally backed into Mr. Tunney's very sinister-looking counter over there. I knocked this box off of the counter and cut myself on the corner. I feel like a terrible damsel in distress."

Clark smirked and almost laughed aloud at Lana's adorable pout. "That's ok." He inspected the tiny cut on her arm and said tenderly, "It's just a knick; you'll live."

"Clark Kent," Lana breathed in wonderment. She ran her hand over his chest and took Clark's hand in hers. "My knight in plaid armour."

* * * * * * *

Chloe didn't feel at all uneasy about entering the S.P.D.'s precinct. Over the three years she had run Smallville High's newspaper, she had visited this place over a dozen times and knew a couple of the officers on a first-name basis. She recognized almost all of the uniformed cops' faces. One face in particular always lightened the burden of her investigation of crime in Smallville.

"Chloe Sullivan," cooed a familiar British voice from behind her.

Turning around, Chloe could already picture Jeremy Kensington's spirited expression that was his trademark to the rest of the town. "Hey, Jeremy," she replied. "I need to know something about a recent case that was brought to you a few weeks ago. Maybe you'll remember a Miss Rosemary Baker."

"Chloe, Chloe, Chloe…" Jeremy groaned. "You know I'm not really allowed to give out information about any reports here."

Chloe held her notepad full of notes up to Jeremy's bewildered face. "No need for information about Miss Baker. I've already talked to her—she's sort of a neighbour." Chloe grinned, noting the amused look on Jeremy's face. "What I really need from you is confirmation about something, or shall I say some_one_. Clark Kent, to be exact."

"Ah, the junior Kent. Yes, we're forged somewhat of a relationship," the raven-haired officer stated. Chloe raised an eyebrow at his comment, to which the British officer replied, "Oh! Not _that_ kind of relationship." He fiddled with the knot of his navy tie awkwardly. This adorable act made the heart of the female before him flutter.

"No, I didn't think so," Chloe giggled. "Back to my objective. I just need you to confirm Miss Baker's account that Clark exhibited a kind of super-power in order to take out the attempted rapist, by means of shoving him through a metre-thick brick wall." Her pen was poised for action.

"Off the record?" Jeremy inquired.

"Whatever you wish."

"Well, I guess it's safe to say that Clark Kent does seem to be a boy of excellent strength, sometimes rather shocking and incredulous."

Chloe scribbled down Jeremy's statement as a possible quote for her front-page article. "From your description I believe I'm correct in assuming that this isn't the first time Clark has helped Smallville's finest."

"How did you know? To be perfectly honest, Clark has been an integral factor in well over twenty cases just last year alone. I was told to check up on his role in these cases, but from what I can tell he's just a normal teenage boy who happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time yet somehow turns the situation into his advantage. I have never found any evidence of foul play on his part so I have never felt the need to take Clark in as a suspect for anything. In fact, he almost always brings the criminal in with him, unconscious to boot, so the case is thusly closed."

"Interesting," Chloe murmured as she almost ripped a hole through her paper with her ballpoint pen. "Thanks, Jeremy. You've been a great help."

"It's always a pleasure, Chloe," Jeremy said. "One day I sincerely hope to talk with you about anything but police reports and Clark Kent."

Chloe's eyes widened in bemusement as she looked up from her messy notes. "Talk to me? About what?"

Jeremy blushed and raked a hand through his thick black hair. "Er, that was a date offer gone horribly wrong."

"Oh, a date?" Chloe said eagerly. "Oh, I mean a date. Cool." Since her failed attempt at a romantic evening with Pete back in seventh grade, she had given up on dating altogether. Not to mention her unrequited infatuation with Clark. But she had made a resolution that morning to move on—Clark would never be hers to date, or love.

"Right, those meetings where two people who perhaps have a slight interest in one another make complete asses out of themselves whilst attempting to maintain the semblance of confidence," Jeremy explained with a chortle.

Chloe nodded in agreement. "Yes, I've heard of those. Perhaps a television special will come out titled 'Dates Gone Awry', right after 'When Animals Attack'."

"Well, I hope ours, if ever imminent, deviates from that premise." Jeremy gave Chloe a warm smile and she knew that if she was ever going to get over Clark, this was the one man who could help her do so.

As Chloe gave her phone number to the delightfully European Jeremy and bid him farewell, she couldn't help but remember his comments about Clark's strength and opportune location at the time of all the crimes. She wondered how much of Clark's life had been a secret to her all these years. He would always frown at her when she brought up his adoption and even got mad at her for snooping about his storm cellar a few years back. What had he been hiding all these years? Chloe made the resolution to find out just that and knew where to start looking for her answers.


	6. Revelation

****

| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |

__

This is my first attempt at Smallville_ fanfiction. I've been a Chloe/Clark shipper since the beginning, so don't expect very much of anyone else. Also note that some parts **may not exactly follow** where the show has went nearing the end of the first season. Enjoy!_

****

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

****

Revelation :

"Hi, Mrs. Kent," Chloe greeted Clark's mother, "is Clark in?" She was peering through the screen door and Martha ignored her cooking for a moment to open it for her son's friend.

"Hello, Chloe," she replied as Chloe wiped her feet on the mat and strolled into the kitchen. "Clark's actually out with Lana right now. Is it important?"

__

Obviously not as important as Lana, Chloe thought to herself. She plastered on a grin for Martha who was pretty much her second mother. "No, not really," she lied. "I needed to get his baby picture for the annual 'Guess Who?' section in the Torch. It's stupid, really. We just try to dig up some old pictures of Smallville High's graduates and make a big deal about how much they've changed over the years. I need it by tomorrow and our absent-minded Clark forgot." It was half-true. She did need to collect random graduates' baby pictures for the Torch; however, she didn't need them until the end of the month.

"No problem. I can do that for you," Martha told her, "if you don't mind sitting here by yourself while I turn my attic upside down looking for them—I can't remember exactly where I put them. Or you could watch television if you'd like." She pointed to the dusty black box in the family room.

As soon as Mrs. Kent left, Chloe darted out the side door and sprinted towards the Kents' huge field. She didn't like being so underhanded, but this was an impromptu investigation. She had to find out what Clark was hiding, and his storm cellar was just the place to start.

Chloe slowly stepped out from behind the barn, looking around to make sure no one was in sight. She tiptoed to where she remembered the door to the storm cellar had been. She wasn't surprised to see it concealed beneath scraps of hay and old grass. Her heart was thumping inside of her chest as she carefully pried open the rotting wooden door and lowered herself into the cavernous room.

She slowly walked around. The sun hit her face in faint streaks from the loose floorboards above her head. The pungent odour of gasoline mixed with decomposing wood filled her nostrils, forcing Chloe to bring a loose sweater sleeve to her nose as she walked deeper into the cellar. Old pitchforks were hanging on the walls along with intimidating scythes and sickles. For a moment she wondered if Clark was a murderer and he had been trying to hide his weapons from her all those years ago. That idea was simply ludicrous.

Finally, she found what she was looking for. At the rear of the room, Chloe spotted a monstrous shape cloaked by an old, moth-eaten blanket. She walked up to it and heaved a sigh. The friend in her wanted to turn around and head back into the house where Mrs. Kent would just be returning with Clark's old photos and they'd both have a jolly good laugh. But the reporter within her surged forward, tossing the tattered blanket from the huge structure.

Chloe stared silently for a minute as she saw through the dim light a machine. It was more than a simple machine, though. It looked like a diminutive rocket with its narrowed nose and a sort of tail at the rear to act as a rudder. _This must have been what Clark was hiding_, Chloe thought to herself. Her mouth gaped open as she found her fingers running over the metallic surface which looked as though it had never rusted from the dampness of the cellar or even aged at all. Her index finger found a small octagon-shaped button on the side of the machine and her mind reeled whether or not to press it. Finally, her curiosity gave in and the button sunk beneath the glossy surface. A tiny hum vibrated through the machine as a small door opened at the top of the vessel. She leaned in to look inside and what she saw amazed her.

Hundreds of tiny blinking lights. Levers and buttons. A small, fragile seat in the middle of the technologically advanced apparatus. This machine had carried something—she observed the seat, which was more of a cradle—or some_one_ small.

"Chloe?" an angry voice whispered from behind her. Chloe spun around to see Clark standing not more than five feet away from her and the ship. "What are you doing?"

Not knowing what to say, Chloe stammered, "Clark, I didn't even hear you come in."

"What are you doing?" he repeated. His eyes narrowed. He knew exactly what she was doing.

"What is this, Clark?" she asked, ignoring his question. She gestured towards the metallic vessel before her. "Is this yours?"

The look in Clark's eyes went from hurt to genuine anger, a look Chloe had never seen on Clark's habitually calm visage. "_You _are the one snooping around things you will never understand; I don't think you're in the position to be asking _me_ questions." His hands tightened into fists and for a moment Chloe was scared he might hurt her.

"I hate to disagree," she answered with strict resolve, "but you've been harbouring a secret for as long as I've known you. Did you really think you could keep it from me? Sooner or later, it was bound to come out." She planted her feet firmly in place.

Clark laughed but not in merriment. "You don't know anything, Chloe. I've told you not to dig around my past. I've asked you as a friend, and now you've just gone and betrayed that trust. What were you planning on doing? Submitting this for first page on the Torch? I know you, Chloe. You're painfully inquisitive and now you've just gone and backstabbed me. How can I trust you, Chloe?" His eyes were like daggers slicing into her conscience.

"Trust _me_?" Chloe cried out. She was enraged by Clark's insensitivity. He had never cared about how she felt throughout their years of friendship. He'd always been too busy daydreaming about Lana to even realize how far they were drifting apart. She wasn't even sure she could call Clark her friend anymore. "You're going to give me a lecture on friendship now? Why don't you start by telling me what this thing is? Because I'm thinking of something along the lines of intergalactic spaceship."

Clark took two strides and he was looming above her. "That's none of your business." He glared at her and she remained speechless for a minute.

"Oh my God," she breathed. She wasn't even looking at Clark now. Her sight was directed to the blinking lights of the ship. "It's true," she continued, "you're not from here." Suddenly, it all clicked. His superhuman strength, Jeremy's comments, the out-of-this-world spaceship before her…. Clark wasn't from here at all—he was an alien.

Clark shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He turned away from her and tried to head out of the storm cellar.

Chloe grabbed onto his jacket. "You lied to me, Clark!" she screamed at him. "All these years have been years of lies. You never even trusted me enough to tell me anything." The fact that Clark wasn't from Earth didn't phase her as much as she thought it would. In fact, it made more sense of the enigmatic Clark Kent than ever before. She had been around enough strange events in Smallville to know that there were forces in this universe far beyond her knowledge or control. Now, the only mystery running through her mind was Clark's deceitful role throughout their years of friendship.

Clark spun around and saw tears streaming down Chloe's face. Still, he persisted and offered her only a look made of stone.

"All these years, you were never what you seemed. That day in eighth grade when I fell, and no one heard me…only _you_ did. It was impossible—I never realized it until now. No one else was around after school and you were still inside when I left our History class. You heard me from all the way in there and you helped me." Her expression softened a bit as she raised her hand to Clark's flushed cheek.

"I remember that day," Clark responded with a hoarse voice. "I _did_ hear you cry. At the time, I didn't even know why I could hear you so clearly from inside of the building, and I was even more confused when I was instantly at your side. All I knew at that point was that you were the most helpless and loveliest creature I had ever seen." He pushed Chloe's bangs from her moist face with a cautious finger and moved closer to her.

Temporarily, she forgot why she was infuriated with Clark. She forgot the pain she had been through every time he mentioned Lana Lang. She forgot his lies to her time and time again and the secret he had never been willing to share with her. "Clark," Chloe whispered as she noticed Clark's head bending towards her and his lips parting ever so slightly. "I lo—"

A loud clatter came from above them as the two jumped apart and peered through the floorboards. Jonathan Kent had driven the tractor right past the wooden doors of the storm cellar. Chloe looked at Clark and suddenly she could only feel his lies and all of the pain she had experienced as a result of loving him too much that it hurt. "I…I can't do this. We can't be friends anymore, Clark," she sobbed as she fled from the storm cellar.

All Clark could do was watch her run, as he battled with his own pain. He would never trust Chloe Sullivan again, not with any secret of his or his aching heart, as he watched her leave.


	7. Worlds Apart

****

| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |

__

This is my first attempt at Smallville_ fanfiction. I've been a Chloe/Clark shipper since the beginning, so don't expect very much of anyone else. Also note that some parts **may not exactly follow** where the show has went nearing the end of the first season. Enjoy!_

****

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

****

Worlds Apart :

Lana carefully ran her hand down Clark's arm as the two of them sat in a booth at the Talon. Sade was smoothly emanating from the speakers while the hustle and bustle of the room was relentless. Customers were whizzing by the two silent bodies who appeared so close from a distance.

"I'm glad I got the night off tonight," Lana whispered into Clark's ear, breaking the silence. "I was hoping we'd spend some time together, seeing as how we're both going to be busy with graduation and prom during the next couple of days."

Clark nodded and smiled back at Lana, who was clad in khaki shorts and a white sleeveless. Was he going insane? His crush since, well, forever was running her hand over places on his body he'd never even known could tingle, and his mind was elsewhere. He had every right to be occupied with his thoughts; he hadn't talked to his best friend in months. They would casually walk past each other in the halls and they would both pretend not to see the other. Part of Clark wanted to reach out to her and hug her until they were the same friends again, but he knew nothing would ever be the same with Chloe.

That day in his storm cellar he had been so angry with her. When he had caught her spying on his secret life, he was so sure that he hated Chloe for her deceit and betrayal. Months after the fact, Clark had convinced himself that he _did_ hate her. He thought for certain that Chloe would print up an article revealing the scoop on Clark Kent, Super-Freak. But she didn't. In fact, she hadn't told anyone, not even Pete, who was now the last shred of their frayed friendship. He knew this because everyone still treated him the same; nothing had changed save for his relationship with Chloe.

"Did you want to call the limousine service tonight or do you want me to?" Lana asked him as she took a sip of her diet cola.

"That's nice," Clark replied vacantly as he stared out of the window.

Lana frowned and realized he hadn't been paying any attention to her at all. "I was also thinking about wearing nothing but two strips of duct-tape to the prom. Kind of an Adam and Eve revival, minus the leaves," she teased.

Clark finally snapped out of his comatose state. "What?" he yelped with his eyes widened.

"Ha, so I have your attention," Lana giggled. She twirled a finger around a tendril of her brown hair. "I better have it for our three month anniversary, too."

"Three months," Clark muttered. "We've been going out that long?"

Lana rolled her eyes. "Try not to sound too excited there."

Clark grinned and kissed her cheek. "Of course I am! Our three month anniversary on prom night? That calls for a double celebration."

Lana laughed and punched him playfully. "Now you're just trying to appease me. Lucky for me, I have to use the restroom and am spared from your unconvincing sap. Be right back," she said as she patted him on the head.

__

Three months, Clark repeated in his head. He tried to recapture the moments he had had with Lana in his mind. They had lengthy discussions about life and family, and Lana was always so compliant. They had never fought, which would have been any boyfriend's wish, but Clark felt that something was missing. Though, it wasn't what he thought it would be. Three months in Smallville High usually hinted at the fact that a couple had slept together. Clark knew that he and Lana were nowhere in the vicinity of copulating. The truth was that he wasn't so sure he was ready. Five years of wanton desire for Lana and he didn't feel the urge to go that extra step. Pete would have called him insane.

"I want to check if I put enough coins it the parking-metre," a familiar British voice resounded from the entrance of the Talon. "Try and find us a seat, Chloe." Jeremy Kensington kissed his blonde-haired companion on the lips and headed out the door.

"Don't take too long. I hate waiting by myself," she called back to him as he left. Clark caught her smiling to herself and couldn't remember his old friend looking so blissful. Part of him ached that _he_ wasn't the one making her smile. Only three months ago he had been joking with her and causing her to throw her head back in that sweet laugh he longed to hear once more.

Chloe headed to the middle of the room and seated herself, unknowingly, in the booth beside Clark's. She pulled out the leather notebook she had been scribbling in for months. This time was no exception as she immersed herself in her words, constantly pausing to reflect on her work.

"Stupid admissions letter," Chloe muttered to herself. Her candid charm was also no exception that night, as every syllable tumbling from her exquisite lips made the man sitting adjacent to her tremble in desire.

"Need some help?" Clark offered. He stood over her booth as she looked up at him in shock. "You've been working on that thing for a while now. Every time I see you, you've got it in your hands."

"Good of you to notice," she replied in a cool voice. She put her attention back to her messy notebook as Clark took a seat at her booth without her asking.

"So you and Jeremy seem pretty close now," Clark stated, trying to make conversation. He knew he was desperate to find out the truth about her relationship with Officer Kensington. "He must be busy a lot, seeing as how he's always out catching the bad guys and whatnot." He was _very_ desperate. Part of him wanted to leave her alone; she didn't deserve his sympathy for what she had done to him.

Chloe looked up, an annoyed countenance about her. "Well, he makes time for me."

Clark was taken aback by her sharpness but persisted. "Look, Chloe, I know things have been really awkward between us. I'm glad you didn't tell anyone about…you know. I didn't even tell my parents about you finding out. I just wanted to say thanks for that." He placed a hesitant hand over hers.

"I'm surprised you trusted me enough not to tell," she snapped. She pulled her hand away from his. "Jeremy's going to be back any moment. I'll see you later."

Everything was so different now. Clark wasn't sure he could handle Chloe the way she was perched before him and purposefully ignoring him. He had missed her every single day since the incident in the storm cellar, but he had too much pride to beg her to forgive him. Plus, he didn't even know if he was the one who should be begging for forgiveness.

He sauntered back to his booth and seated himself just in time to see Lana heading back from the restroom. "Miss me?" she cooed as she kissed his lips.

__

Everyday, Clark thought to himself, truly speaking to the blonde-haired girl sitting solitary behind him.

* * * * * * *

Seeing Clark at the Talon was torture. For months Chloe had reminded herself that she didn't love Clark anymore. She had moved on with her life. She had Jeremy to love and comfort her, and mostly to trust her. When she recalled the anger Clark had in his eyes when she had discovered his secret, she was also enraged by his secret life unbeknownst to her. She had always been the person who knew him inside and out; to have something so important shut away from her for so long made her feel even more insignificant to Clark, the love of her life. To him, she was nothing more than the snippy gal-pal who was fixated on his very existence.

__

That was long ago, Chloe thought, _and history is not going to repeat itself_. Tearing herself away from Clark was the most difficult thing she had ever done, especially since she saw him at school almost everyday since their close encounter of the Kent kind. She felt the most tormenting pain each time she blatantly snubbed him and avoided talking to him. However, she knew it was necessary in order to forget about Clark and the pain he had always inflicted upon her.

"Pence for your thoughts, love," Jeremy said to Chloe as the two of them sat in his apartment. "Or penny, as the currency is in America."

"Ignorant Brit," Chloe teased her boyfriend. She was never going to tell Jeremy about her feelings for Clark, as deep as she had buried them in her psyche. She clamped her notebook shut and stuffed it into her bag.

"I resent that, Yankee," Jeremy joked in return as he sat beside her on his bed. He grinned as he leaned in to kiss her. His lips gently brushed against hers; moments flew by and they began to crush against hers intensely. His body slowly pinned hers on the bed as his hands explored under her shirt.

Jeremy and her had become close over the months. Being older than Chloe, Jeremy had initially expected a certain romantic element from her and was up front about it at the very beginning. Chloe, an eighteen-year-old virgin, had appreciated his honesty, but told him that she wouldn't be ready to make love with anyone for a very long time. She wasn't exactly _in_ love with Jeremy, which made it more difficult for Jeremy to get what he wanted. He was understanding, though, and never rushed her. That was all Chloe could really ask of him.

"Whoa, boy," Chloe breathed and she gently pushed Jeremy's body away from hers. "This is a little too close for comfort."

Jeremy blushed in embarrassment. "Right," he stammered, "I almost forgot." He was joking of course, but Chloe wondered just how long he was willing to wait. In all honestly, she knew she would never give herself to Jeremy. She didn't love him. The only person to whom she could ever think about giving herself was a boy who no longer needed her and had never wanted her that way.

"I really should be getting home. I have to type up the final draft of my admissions piece to the Metropolis School of Journalism and then I'm home free."

"Good luck, love," he said as he began to clear the dirty dishes from his table. "What topic did you decide on? The life-altering issue or the current event?"

"A little from column A, a little from column B," she answered as she tugged her long coat on. Chloe smiled as she kissed Jeremy good night.

When she returned home, she immediately sat in front of her laptop typing away like a secretary on speed. Never had words flowed so easily out of her mind as her fingers clacked away at the keyboard. She looked at the clock and noted the brilliant red symbols indicating 4:00 AM. She didn't care. She was on a roll. Her thoughts, which she had always considered so jumbled and tangled, were now clear and unequivocal. For once, she was writing something that would show true heart. It was a story about heroes and villains, crime and rescue…but mostly it was about a boy, who wasn't so ordinary.

_I knew from the moment I saw him that I loved him. I knew the potential of greatness in his every stride and the possibility of love in his gaze. I felt safe whenever I was near him, as I'm sure anyone else close to him will profess. He wasn't normal, nor was he mine—he belonged to the world. He would save it a thousand times if he had the courage and the strength. He had both._

She didn't use his real name—she didn't have to. She knew who the hero that she spoke of was. No pseudo-name or substitution could ever replace him.

Chloe finished writing the piece as the sun rose from the east and the rooster on the farm beside her house began to crow. She looked at her notebook and looked over the crude writing and scribbles she had made over months of introspection. Carefully, she tore out the dozen-something papers she had written her admissions piece on, folded them, and stuffed them into a pale blue envelope. With a shaky hand, she scrawled the name "Clark" on the front of it. She would give it to him tonight, graduation night.


	8. Seeking Solace

****

| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |

__

This is my first attempt at Smallville_ fanfiction. I've been a Chloe/Clark shipper since the beginning, so don't expect very much of anyone else. Also note that some parts **may not exactly follow** where the show has went nearing the end of the first season. Enjoy!_

****

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

****

Seeking Solace : 

The mirror beheld a tall dark-haired boy who, on almost all occasions, exhibited utmost calmness and confidence with a radiant white smile. Today, Clark Kent didn't feel like smiling as he pulled his sleek black jacket over the rest of his formal ensemble. He had chosen to wear a contemporary tuxedo to the Smallville High prom, scrapped the burdensome cummerbund and dinky bow tie, and switched to looser-fitting pants and a satin black tie.

"Don't you look like a younger James Bond," Jonathan Kent affirmed. He was standing at the door to Clark's disheveled bedroom when his son spun around and managed a smirk. "Well, without the Bond magnetism. I suppose the Kent Charm will have to make up for that."

Clark laughed and fiddled with the knot of his tie in the mirror. "Right. _Charm_. I'll try to remember that as I tame my two left feet on the dance floor." He sat on the edge of his bed and tucked his feet in the binding shoes his mom had helped him pick out. "Ugh, I'd be much more comfortable in my sneakers. What are these made out of? Metal? They refuse to bend."

"For someone who seems to be made of steel, you sure do whine a lot about discomfort," his father joked. Jonathan took a seat beside his son on the mattress. "You just have to break them in, is all." He placed his hand on Clark's broad shoulder and said, "You have fun tonight. Don't be worrying about the troubles I know you have swimming around in your head."

"That's easier said than done, Dad," Clark declared. He wasn't sure if he could face Chloe that night. Pete had confirmed Chloe's feelings of love for him and he would be lying if he said that he didn't feel anything in return. However, Lana was now in his life, the girl he'd always fantasized about and dreamed would care for him as more than friend—and now she did. When did things become so muddled? When did his simple life veer into a maze-like avenue?

As a child, he'd wanted nothing more than to be normal. Throughout high school he had attempted to appear as such and was quite successful, until three months ago when Chloe had to stick her journalistic nose in the muck of his past. He had every right to hate her, and still there was a part of him that knew he could never, as much as he felt justified in doing so.

Jonathan Kent got up from his seat and headed for the door. "Have a great time with Lana tonight. Make it memorable," he advised his son with a broad smile.

Clark nodded. "Definitely," he agreed.

* * * * * * *

"I don't think I've ever seen you wear a dress before," Jeremy exclaimed as Chloe clumsily crept down her stairs.

Chloe looked over her own body, all too conscious of her bare legs peeking through the slit of her black gown and her cleavage exposed at the front. "There's a reason for that. I don't look good in them," she complained. She grabbed her thin shawl from the living room and looked at herself in the mirror by her front door. Her hair was swept up in a classic French twist securely fastened into place with numerous bobby pins. She slid the translucent red shawl over her naked shoulders where thin spaghetti straps held the A-line gown perfectly over her the curves of her body.

"Well, I think you look beautiful," Jeremy stated as he came from behind her and kissed her cheek. He quickly glanced at his watch. "We have twenty minutes to get to the hotel before your prom starts. Yikes, I feel so ancient and my prom was only three years ago." Jeremy cringed in jest as Chloe playfully poked him in the ribs.

"I'll just grab my purse from upstairs and we'll be set to go," she called to him as she headed to her bedroom. She found her matching red purse at the foot of her bed and she bent down to pick it up. Under it was the blue envelope she had stuffed with her letter to Clark last night. "Should I, or should I not?"

"Chloe, darling," Jeremy called from the bottom of the stairs, "we're going to be late!"

"Coming!" Chloe yelled back as she stuffed the envelope into her purse and bounded down the stairs.

* * * * * * *

Lana applied her pink lipstick in front of the tiny passenger seat mirror as Clark's foot plunged on the gas pedal of Lex Luthor's black Porsche 911 to speed past an amber traffic light. He was glad that Lana had finally agreed not to take a limousine. Clark never liked being ushered around; he liked having control. Lex, being a good and wealthy friend, had offered Clark the use of any of his fancy foreign automobiles. Clark had stood, drooling, in a garage full of BMWs, Mercedes Benzes, and other equally expensive luxury sports cars when Lex had handed him the keys to the Porsche.

"Slow down, Clark," Lana asserted, "there's no need to speed. We'll make it on time. If we had gone with the limo, like we initially planned, we would have no problem."

"Sorry," Clark apologized. He wasn't really sorry. "I want to meet up with some friends before we head inside of the event room. I was supposed to meet Pete in the hotel lobby for pictures and I was kind of hoping to see…er, an old friend."

Lana knew exactly whom Clark wished to see. "Chloe," she stated, purposely not phrasing it as a question. She had been with Clark throughout his fallout with the young Barbara Walters and knew how much he thought about her each day. She had never brought up her name, though, unless Clark first spoke of her, and that was hardly ever. Lana knew that Chloe was perpetually on his mind. She never had any need to feel jealous because she knew since day one that she herself was on Clark's pedestal. She had been the one in Clark's dreams for as long as memory served.

Clark cleared his throat. "I was hoping to talk to you about that," he told her. "I know I've been occupied with thoughts about Chloe and my friendship with her and how it ended—"

"What ever happened between you two, Clark?" Lana asked him inquisitively. "One minute you two are inseparable and the next you act as if you don't know each other."

He couldn't tell her what really went down between him and Chloe. For years he had yearned for the day when he could finally expose to Chloe all of the secrets he had been hiding. He wished that it had ended better, that it hadn't ended at all. But he would change that tonight. "It was over nothing, really," he lied. 

Lana looked at her boyfriend's set jaw as he concentrated on the road. "You're lying," she said knowingly. "I know what happened, Clark. Even more, I know why you're lying to me. I'd be uncomfortable with the facts, too, if I were in Chloe's position."

Clark turned to her in surprise. "You…you know?" Maybe Chloe _did_ tell someone about his secret. He would never forgive her.

Lana nodded and said, "It's hard to face the truth, Clark. Which is why—I am sure—Chloe backed away from you. She couldn't handle the fact that you don't love her the way she loves you, and that you love _me_." She gave him a warm smile and cupped his cheek in her hand. "I've always known it, and now Chloe knows it for certain."

"You're right," Clark said as he fell into a puzzle of his own thoughts. He parked the Porsche and watched as Lana stepped out with her long, pink gown dragging on the cement parking lot. _I love Lana. I am _in_ love with Lana_, he repeated in his mind as they neared the entrance to the hotel. He was lying to himself. Lana, pretty in pink, was his fantasy turned reality. Now, when he finally had it within his grasp, he could only think of one person. He had to find Chloe.

He followed Lana into the lobby. "Clark, I just saw some people I want to say hi to. I'll be back in a minute," Lana informed him with a quick kiss as she jogged over to her cheerleading friends stationed by the punch bowl. Right then Clark spotted Pete heading towards him.

"Hey, man," Pete said as he fixed his bow tie, "how do I look?"

"Like the Mack Daddy himself," Clark joked.

Pete grimaced. "Farm-boy saying 'Mack Daddy?' Promise me never to use that term in a sentence again. It just doesn't mesh well."

"Ha ha," Clark replied sarcastically. "Have you seen Chloe yet?"

"I shared a limousine with her and Jeremy. She's around somewhere. Do you need to talk to her?"

Clark gave Pete a worried look, as if Pete knew exactly what he needed to tell Chloe. Pete didn't say another word as the two of them saw Chloe walking through the hotel entrance. Her black dress complimented her figure perfectly and her choice of a red shawl accented the sensuality of her body. Clark had never seen Chloe so gorgeous. Why had he not seen Chloe as the ravishing beauty she was until it was too late? A knot formed in his stomach as he saw Jeremy slip his arm comfortably around Chloe's waist.

"So, are you going to talk to her or what?" Pete gave his speechless friend a dubious look.

"Maybe later," Clark responded uneasily as he escaped into the empty main event room where the music had just started to play.

* * * * * * *

Chloe saw Clark hurriedly head into the main event room by himself and took it as her chance to give him the letter. "Jeremy, I'll be back. Why don't you talk to Pete over there? He looks lonely."

"What a caring friend you are," Jeremy chuckled. "Alright, I'll catch you later."

As soon as Jeremy left her side, Chloe followed Clark's path into the room with resplendent lights beaming in every direction and a filthy rap song pumping through the loud speakers. She didn't see him anywhere on the dance floor, and no one else was in the room for that matter. She noticed an open door to the balcony and quickly walked over to it.

"Clark?" Chloe called into the dark of night. "Are you out here?" Her sight fixed on the remarkable view of downtown Metropolis from the altitudinous balcony. Soon, she'd be living among those lights, streets, and buildings as the reporter she'd always aspired to be.

"I'm right here," Clark's voice called from her left side. She spun around to find him standing close to her. "God, Clark! You scared me," she cried as she punched him in the arm.

Clark laughed. "That's because you're so easy to scare. Just be thankful I didn't equip myself with the _Jason_ mask you've grown to love."

The word "love" stuck in Chloe's head as she battled with the decision to give Clark the letter or not. "That mask is so passé. You need new tricks, Farm-boy."

The two of them laughed as though they were back in the ninth grade when things were less complicated and she could stand so closely to Clark and not feel the urge to run her hands through his messy hair and brush her lips against his in pure ecstasy. Chloe abruptly turned her attention to the view again.

"Chloe," Clark uttered, "I want to talk to you about that day in my storm cellar." He tugged on Chloe's arm as she reluctantly faced him. "I've wanted to tell you everything for so long. I was scared, Chloe, of the truth, of how others would regard me. I know Lana would freak if she knew the truth."

"Right," Chloe whispered, mostly to herself, "Lana." As much as she wanted Clark to know just how much she had loved him throughout all their years of platonic friendship and how much she still loved him now, she couldn't ignore the fact that Clark would never be hers to have.

"I mean," Clark continued, "Lana _is_ my fantasy girl. If she looked at me any differently than she does now, I don't know what I'd do. I've spent so many years just wondering what it would be like to have her with me, and now I know." He _did_ know, and he knew other things now, too. He knew his true feelings for Chloe were anything but platonic. He juggled the words to tell Chloe what he had only now realized about their friendship…their love.

Chloe had had enough. Every other word out of Clark's mouth, for as long as she had known him, was Lana this or Lana that. She'd been a fool to think that it was different now. Nothing would change. She would always be stupid, ignorant Chloe who clings on to a love that will forever be out of her reach.

"The thing is, Chloe, that Lana and I—"

"Enough!" Chloe shouted. "_Enough_! Please, Clark. I don't want to hear another word." She lowered her head and felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I was such a fool to believe…" she cried softly under her breath.

Clark took a step closer to her. "What are you talking about?" he asked her, his eyes widening in anticipation.

"I was a fool to think I ever loved you, Clark Kent," she cried. "Here you are spouting words of love about Lana Lang and it's no different than three months ago or even five years ago. I've had enough. I want something more than this—I deserved that much." She refused to let her tears fall. Appearing weak in Clark's eyes was the last thing she wanted out of this monologue.

"I've tried to suppress these feelings. I've honestly tried, Clark. You've been talking about fantasies for as long as I've known you. All the while, I've had one of my own. But the difference is _you_ were my fantasy, my dream, or whatever you'd like to call it. Just remembering the times when I thought you might feel something in return for me… God, how could I have been so naïve."

Clark tried to speak but found it difficult to put his thoughts into words without saying the wrong thing. "For the most part, Chloe, you're right. Lana Lang has been my fantasy as far back as I can remember. But that's a fantasy Chloe, it goes away. It fades and all you're left with is something real and more than just a dream." He wanted to tell her _everything_ he had learned about himself in the past three months. "You've been there for me during times that were trying and difficult. You stuck. When everything else faded, _you stuck_. I don't take that for granted."

Chloe laughed maniacally. "I beg to differ. The only thing you _have_ done is take me for granted. You treated me like your Plan B, your last resort when Lana wouldn't give you the time of day. You didn't even trust me enough as a friend to tell me the truth about who and what you are. So, I'm neither a romantic interest nor a friend to you, and now you expect me to be the one you 'settle for' when things with Lana take a turn for the worst? No way, I won't play the sacrificial lamb anymore because all you're doing is using me until something better comes along. Better, as in Lana. I won't stand for it, not for anyone and especially not for you." She turned on her heel and headed for the lobby to find Jeremy.

"Chloe, wait!" Clark shouted as he tried to grab her arm, missed and accidentally tore a gaping hole in the side of her dress. His superfluous strength had for once failed him; he couldn't believe how bad this was turning out. He had only wanted to talk to Chloe honestly and let her know how he truly felt about her, and that he might, in fact, love her more than any fantasy conjured in his head.

"Leave me alone!" Chloe snapped back at him, clutching her thin shawl around her newly torn gown. "I don't need you anymore."

Clark watched as she ran into the lobby and out of sight. He slumped against the wall with the loud speakers doing nothing to soothe the torturous ache in his chest.

* * * * * * *

"Jeremy!" Chloe called as she saw him standing by the punchbowl. "Can we go somewhere alone? I really don't want to be around these people." She noticed Lana standing at the other end of the table, giving her a quizzical look.

"Are you alright? You don't look well," Jeremy told her as he lifted her chin. He noted the mascara that had run down her cheeks. "Let's go upstairs and get your make-up cleaned up." He brought her to the front desk and asked for a room and Chloe followed him docilely.

As soon as they entered the room, Jeremy helped Chloe to the bed and dampened a hand towel. "What happened, Chloe?" Jeremy asked her as he sat beside her on the bed and wiped the wet cloth under her eyes.

"I just talked with Clark on the balcony." She tried to expunge the images of Clark's face from her mind. "It didn't go as I planned," she murmured as she remembered that the letter was still in her bag.

"Shh," Jeremy soothed her. He gently rubbed her bare arms with his hands. "You don't have to talk about it."

She looked up at Jeremy's caring face and, even though it wasn't Clark's, she knew she loved him, too. It was a different kind of love, one of mutual understanding and comfort; she could turn to Jeremy and he would always care for her. She needed him now to care for her.

Chloe looked into Jeremy's eyes and his head bent down to kiss her lips. As usual, Jeremy pressed his body to hers and this time Chloe didn't resist. She needed him and although she knew the blind rage from her previous altercation with Clark fueled her desire for Jeremy, she did not want to stop him.

After moments of touching and moaning, she had slipped out of her dress and Jeremy was fiddling with his zipper. She climbed under the covers of the hotel blanket as he moved in between her legs. A part of her wanted to tell him to stop, but her mouth couldn't form words of protest. She didn't know if this was right. She only knew that she needed _someone_ to love her, if not Clark Kent.


	9. Though Some Have Changed

****

| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |

__

Finally got off my arse and added a new part to this story. Enjoy!

****

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

****

Though Some Have Changed :

"So, it's over?" Lana whimpered, as she sat in Clark's truck, "just like that?" She looked at Clark's saddened face and knew it was true. "Are you sure this is what you really want? I mean, we could start over again and maybe things would be different."

Clark shook his head. "I don't think so, Lana." He stared blankly at the sun casting ribbons of red and orange over the horizon. The last days of summer vacation were numbered and adulthood was just around the corner.

Lana was close to tears and she fought reasons in her mind over why Clark Kent, the only man who had ever been willing to vie for her honour, was deciding to call it quits. "Don't you love me?"

Clark turned to face Lana and noticed moist streaks on the apples of her cheek. He placed a hand on the side of her face and rubbed them away with his smooth thumb. "I do, Lana, but it's not the kind of love you need. It's not the kind _I_ need."

Half of Smallville High's graduating class had already begun their departure to their future schools, homes, and lives. Clark wouldn't be one of them, as he finally received his acceptance into Kansas State University. He knew of one person whom he wanted to convince to stay in Smallville, to leave behind her journalism studies and Jeremy Kensington…for _him_.

"Lana," Clark continued, "you've been the only girl in my head for the past five years. You represented all I wanted out of life. And now I really don't think 'wanting' is the question. I'm not sure my fantasy about you and me is what I really _need_—" 

"It's Chloe, isn't it?" Lana interrupted meekly. "You love her." She had never been surer of anything in her life. "Or you're _in_ love with her—whatever that means." Clark failed to meet her eyes and she knew she was right in her assumption. At that moment, she wanted Chloe to hurt and she wanted Clark to turn his eyes away from Chloe in disgust. She wanted to spew fire. "I hope you know that she's not the girl you believe she is. She's not as chaste and pure as you think."

"What do you mean?" Clark asked Lana. His eyes narrowed. "Chloe wouldn't do anything—"

"She had sex with Jeremy," Lana spat out. The pain in Clark's eyes after her statement gave her enough fuel to keep talking. "I saw them right before everyone started heading to the event room at the prom. They were checking into a hotel room together."

Clark didn't know how to react. He remembered his argument with Chloe just moments before everyone had filed into the event room. He remembered accidentally tearing Chloe's dress. He remembered her saying that she didn't need him anymore. She had meant it.

Lana had indeed been his fantasy, but when he had put everything into place, he knew Chloe was the sole woman with whom he wanted to share complete intimacy. He had thought she felt the same, until now. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he knew Lana wouldn't lie about such a thing.

"I know how this must hurt you, Clark," Lana continued, "If you decide to go running after her because you think you know each other so well, you should know the truth."

The ride home with Lana was dead silent. Clark dropped her off at her home as his gaze lingered on the fading pink in her visage, the pink that he had dreamed of kissing as a young boy. But now as a man he knew rose-coloured glasses were not what he needed—he needed Chloe. Chloe and her sarcasm. Chloe and her smile. Chloe and her sweet laugh. His truck speedily headed towards the bus terminal.

But what of this news? He wasn't even certain now if he was making the right choice in begging Chloe to stay in Smallville. The tidings Lana had given him were too painful to come to terms with. And the worst is that they were true. Chloe had made love to someone else, someone who was not him. She didn't want him anymore and she didn't _need_ him. Those were her exact words on the balcony. His temper flared and his mind went mad with jealousy. It was too much to handle. Too many problems arose with the prospect of Chloe. In the end, would it be worth it? Was she even the same Chloe he had known only a year ago? Clark had no other choice. He spun the truck around and headed to his own home, determined to lose his love for Chloe Sullivan and never look back.

* * * * * * *

Her bus's departure was in fifteen minutes and Chloe was still shoveling through miscellaneous items in her room. It seemed to be becoming a ritual. But all that would change soon. In a month, actually. She spied her acceptance letter into the Metropolis School of Journalism on her dresser, momentarily remembering her jubilation when she first discovered that she had been accepted, and shoved it into her carrier bag. Still, she continued rifling through her drawers.

"Where is it?" Chloe shouted in the privacy of her bedroom. The blue envelope had gone missing. She was sure she had brought it home from the prom in her little red purse, but it was nowhere to be found. Had she dropped it somewhere? Had her father found it and tossed it into the trash? _Maybe it's better that way_, Chloe thought to herself. _I have to leave everything behind here in Smallville, or I will never live a happy day after this_.

"Chloe!" Gabe Sullivan's voice bellowed from downstairs. "We're going to be late! Is this going to become a habit for Smallville's very own reporter on her way to the top?"

"I'm coming, Dad," Chloe called back. Perhaps it was time to give up that blue envelope and the feelings tucked away inside of it. Yes, it was.

Her father gave her warnings about Metropolis's lascivious nightlife during the car ride to the bus station. "I want you remember to keep pepper spray with you at all times. I'll mail you a bottle."

"I'm sure the post office would love to see that in an x-ray. Considering the anthrax scare they've been having recently, it should be a breath of fresh air," Chloe taunted her dad.

"I'm not kidding, young lady," Gabe warned her. "Metropolis has a lot of criminals, way more than Smallville. It could use a helpful lad like Clark Kent."

Chloe stifled her heart's anguish when she heard that name.

"Oh, and before I forget," Gabe continued, "I found this in the hall of the house. Is it yours?" He pulled a blue envelope from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Chloe.

Chloe noted Clark's name on the front and saw that the envelope was open. "Did you read it?" Chloe cried out as she angrily grabbed the letter from her father's hands.

"Sheesh," Gabe remarked as his daughter quickly threw the envelope into her plump bag. "No, I didn't read it. It wasn't even sealed when I found it."

"Right," Chloe whispered as she remembered not licking the envelope shut. She had battled with the urge to take the letter out and stuff a sappy "Congrats!" card for graduation in the blue envelope instead. "Sorry for pouncing on you like that," she apologized. She gave her father a warm smile.

"I understand," Gabe replied. "Your break-up with Jeremy was only what, two days ago? Obviously, you're on edge."

Chloe nodded. She had told Jeremy that she couldn't love him that way he wanted her to. No matter what, she would always love Clark. Of course, she didn't tell Jeremy that one fact, but he still didn't take her breaking up with him easily. The night they had shared in the hotel room meant something to him, more than it meant to Chloe. She felt dastardly to have slept with Jeremy in her muddled state of mind that evening; she never thought she'd be the one to do something so despicable, to seek solace in such an atrocious fashion. Not only did she _not_ want Jeremy's love, she didn't deserve it. She felt vile and wretched. If Clark ever learned the truth of her actions on prom night, she was convinced he would never want to speak to her again, either.

The two Sullivans pulled into the bus terminal and watched as Pete's familiar red minivan parked in the spot right beside them. Pete got out of his car and gave Gabe a handshake. "I told you I'd come see you off, Chloe," he said as he turned to the college-bound lass.

Chloe threw her arms around her dear friend as her father unpacked her luggage from the trunk of the car. "Thanks, Pete. It feels so weird to be leaving this place permanently. I'll miss high school, the Torch, you, and…." Chloe cut her sentence off before she revealed any more.

"You'll miss Clark," Pete said shrewdly. "I know how you feel about him."

"Correction: _felt_. As in the past, as in no longer the present or the future," Chloe quickly rebutted.

"Alright," Pete gave in. "I know how you _felt_ about Clark. But running away from him won't erase the history you two have. And, even more, it won't mend the mistakes that both of you made."

"Mistakes…" Chloe whispered under her breath. She had slept with Jeremy. That was her mistake—she could never forgive herself. All these years she believed that if she ever gave herself to any man, if would be Clark Kent. "Well, things don't always go the way we plan," Chloe told her friend. Pete only nodded as Gabe approached them with Chloe's luggage.

"Do you have everything now?" Gabe asked his daughter. "Luggage? Ticket? Money?"

Chloe laughed, "Dad, relax. I have everything I need." _Maybe not _everything_ I need_. She gave both her father and Pete a long hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be fine. I'll give you guys a call as soon as I get to the dormitory." She climbed into the bus and handed the driver her ticket. She didn't shed a tear as she watched her doting father climb back into his grey sedan and her good friend, his minivan. After she had taken her seat and the bus started moving away from the station, Chloe looked back and searched the station for the one person who could ever make her agree to stay behind in Smallville. He was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, she began to cry.


	10. Admission and Acceptance

****

| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |

__

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

****

Addendum: _This isn't the end of the story. I have one last piece coming up. I just need to get my ass into gear!_

****

Admission and Acceptance :

The sun was now behind the horizon, leaving traces of violet in the almost black sky. Clark sat in his loft not knowing what to do. He had promised Pete that he would meet him at the bus terminal to see Chloe off. Secretly, Clark wanted to convince her to stay. He would have gotten on his knees and begged her if he had to. But now things were different. Truths were revealed. Promises had been broken—_unsaid_ promises, at least.

"I just talked to Chloe's father on the phone," Martha Kent informed her brooding son as she crept up the steps to the loft. "He said that Chloe left for Metropolis this evening. You didn't mention that to me."

Clark shrugged and turned away from his knowing mother. "I guess it just slipped my mind."

Martha rubbed a sensitive hand over her son's stiff spine. "You might not want to tell me what happened between the two of you, but I can tell what's going through your mind. I'm your mother. Mother knows all and knows best." She grinned at Clark who turned to look at her. "I just hope you know what's best for you."

"I'm still learning, Mom," Clark told her. 

Life without Chloe Sullivan seemed impossible. It was one thing that she would be away from Smallville, but it was another that he felt as though he could never speak to her again, regardless of distance.

It wasn't so much that he felt betrayed. Chloe was the one woman who had ever known him. She had even discovered his alien origin yet never treated him as though it made a difference in her perception of him. All his life, he never felt that one person could know him so well, and now he may have let that person slip out of his grasp indefinitely. He didn't feel like he knew her as well as she knew him. After all, she had so easily jumped into bed with Jeremy. That wasn't the Chloe Sullivan he knew—that was contemptible.

They had been through so much over their senior year in Smallville. So many laughs. So many fights. _Too_ many disappointments.

"By the way," Martha said on her way out, "this came in the mail for you today." She tossed her son a nondescript envelope. "There was no return address, only your name and our address."

Puzzled, Clark ripped open the envelope and froze as he immediately recognized the handwriting and knew exactly what was staring back at him, almost right into his soul.

"Well," his mother prodded, "what is it? An acceptance letter?"

"No," Clark breathed, "it's not."

The story unfolds at a very strange time in my life. It doesn't start when I was born or even on my first day of school. It starts when my life began, when I met someone who would forever change the path of my very existence. That is when I first started living, really_ living. I hadn't known reason until I met him and, even then, reason was overtaken by passion. I hadn't known anticipation until I knew his actions. I hadn't known love until I yearned for his closeness._

He was my friend—my best friend, in fact. That's what made it harder for me to love him. It wasn't that he was different from the rest of us, that he was stronger and more eager than the average boy was. I didn't love him in spite of those attributes; I loved him fo_r them. He was mine…for a time, at least. But I had always known I would have to eventually share his wonderfulness with the world. It was the world that needed his strength, and I needed to find my own._

He isn't from around here. He isn't from the world, as we know it. He is the classic enigma whose puzzle I want more than anything to piece together. And even with the complications of his being here, the trials and tribulations of his less than ordinary life, he is a good person. He is the best person. He saves people—his family, friends, and even perfect strangers—and he saved me. He is a hero, in every sense of the word. Even when he is not here with me, the very thought of him rescues me from the depths of despair. I only hope one day, however far in the future it may be, that I'll be able to save the both of us for old time's sake.

His heart beat quickly in his chest as the letter went on to describe the events, which were imprinted in his memory, of the storm cellar and the prom. "It's an admissions letter," he concluded as he reached the signature at the bottom. Had Chloe left this for him to read? Did she think this would change things? It did. Though, not enough.

"An _admissions_ letter?" Martha queried. "What on earth are you going to do with that?" She was confused by the look of recognition her son gave the mysterious letter.

"Nothing," Clark resolved. He folded the papers in his hands and shoved them into his jacket pocket. He wasn't ready to confront his love for Chloe and the problems it had caused during the last several months. But, perhaps, someday he would be. "Nothing…for now."


	11. Epilogue

**| WHAT WE HAVE LOVED |**

**_Note:_**_ It looks like I _finally_ got this last part of my story up. What happened was that I wrote the epilogue, loved it, and then lost it through a computer mishap. I was pissed off to a point where I refused to write it all over again because I felt I got it right the first time. However, one afternoon, I decided to write it. Well, that was boring. At any rate, I've finally closed this story the way I wanted—Enjoy!_

**_Obligatory Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own any of the _Smallville_ characters, but, if I had the choice, I'd make Tom Welling my manservant. All events in this piece are fictional and are from the matrix of my own mind. Please don't steal. It's wrong._

**Epilogue :******

She tossed her raven black hair over her shoulder as she easily nudged the cardboard box marked "Smallville" back into the storage room with her foot, closing the door to the past with finality. Plopping herself down on her bed, she breathed a sigh of fatigue, her eyes scanning the disheveled state of the room.

She had just moved into a real house, not like the squalid apartment she had lived in for years after she had graduated from the Metropolis School of Journalism. She chanted to herself many a time that she was indeed "on her way to the top," but the mess of her house served as a more telling metaphor of her journalistic career. She had taken up job offers at several Metropolis newspapers, but she was really waiting for an opportunity to work with the esteemed Daily Planet. And until that dream transpired, she would have no time for distractions.

It was another Friday evening and she still refused to go out for a night on the town. Leaving her house infected her with a sense of foreboding that could not be easily erased. Her father had been right for the most part: the crime rate in Metropolis was much greater than in Smallville. And without a superhero to save the day countless of times, she was not always eager to partake in the nocturnal rituals of the Metropolis population. It didn't help that she hadn't made too many close friends over her years in Metropolis, either.

Her eyes rested on the framed diplomas and certificates collecting dust on her dresser. She had not yet had the time to hang them promisingly on her bare grey wall. They certified that Lois Lane was indeed journalist. Maybe not a successful one, but she'd work on that soon enough. Lois Lane was going to be successful where Chloe Sullivan had not been.

Lois noticed a blue envelope peeking out from under a frame and carefully took it into her hands. "Funny," she thought to herself, "I could have sworn I left this in the box." She read the name "Clark" on the front of it and had the urge to toss it into the trashcan. However, she felt a strange desire to re-read the letter at that point, wanting to relive the memories of her adolescence, a small part of her wanting to fall in love with Clark Kent all over again.

She delicately pulled the pieces of loose-leaf paper out from the aging blue envelope and cried out in shock. The papers—they were _blank_. She could vividly remember all of the nights that she painstakingly wrote out those words of concealed truths—so one boy could read it and know how much she had loved him.

One page was not blank. Stuttering, Lois read the words aloud:

_Dear Chloe,_

_Don't worry, I didn't read it. I just gave it to its rightful owner. _

_Love, Dad.___

The words echoed in her empty room. Her father had given the letter to Clark. Clark had read the letter. And Clark had never replied. Lois realized that the contents of the letter were dead to its recipient, no matter how alive they were to her at that moment.

Without warning, she heard a loud knocking. Could it be fate finally giving her a chance to mend the errors of the past? Would she swing the door open and find her best friend smiling at her once again? Lois quickly scrambled to her front door, pausing for one second, and then threw open the rickety door with a wide grin.

_No one_.

Lois's smile faded into a vacuous expression. Was she going crazy? Or had she just willed herself to hear something she only wished she had heard? Whatever the case, she felt defeated. And only one thing could cure that kind of emotional affliction.

She quickly opened her freezer door and hoisted out a bottle of Russia's finest vodka. "It's good for what ails me."

Much like another night in her past almost seven years ago, a quiet voice came unexpectedly from behind her along with a light rapping on her window. "Chloe?"

Frightened, Lois dropped the half-full bottle of Smirnoff, letting it crash to the linoleum floor. Hearing her real name unleashed a barrage of memories from the past that she thought she had locked away indefinitely. She was wrong.

Even from behind her dirty kitchen window she could see two blue eyes—the colour of that cursed envelope—attached to a tall, dark-haired man with a smile that still illuminated a room. Without a word, she opened the side door for him, like she had done once before during the ungodly hours of night, and let him into her humble home.

The two stared at each other for what seemed to be eternity. Memories of a childhood friendship that she thought she had successfully caged in the cardboard box sitting idly in her storage room filled her senses. She could hide them no longer. She had waited too long for this moment.

He took Lois in a tight embrace and buried his nose in her newly darkened tresses. This time she didn't hesitate or cower, she simply kissed him. She felt the hot current of electricity, the alien feeling of love, that only this one man could give her. His tongue swept over her aching mouth with a power so overwhelming, and finally she knew completeness. She moaned softly as his body pressed against hers in a sensual harmony of movement. She could only surrender to the bare necessity of this man's being close to her always.

"Sorry, I'm late," Clark Kent whispered into her ear. "You're a hard woman to track down." He took her hot face in his hands gingerly. "It took me so many—_too_ many—years to realize some things. But I know now. I know _you_, Chloe. And I love you." He pushed the loose tendrils of black hair behind her delicate ear and, like a teenage girl, she blushed. The distance of time between the two bodies disappeared and, in that one moment, Chloe Sullivan was revived in the arms of a hero, the best friend she had ever known.


End file.
